“Jackson hated pickles too.”

She immediately regretted letting the words escape but it was too late. She felt overwhelmingly guilty. She had said it to convince her lunch partner that she had come to terms with what had happened, but could tell immediately it didn’t have the right effect.

He stared at her obviously waiting for her continue. “He loved hamburgers but said he never understood ‘why the pickle’… ‘the pickle’ as if it were a phenomenon instead of just a dilly removable extra.” Her voice cracked with the beginnings of real emotions she wasn’t ready for.

“Are you sure you’re ok?” he asked.

She gave the appropriate response, but he knew it was a lie. His pity for her stung sharply in her chest. In that moment the loss felt especially great.

The image of her teenage son’s dangling and lifeless body was burned into her memory. Somehow, what she remembered to be proper social etiquette forced her into a pickle conversion with her co-worker.

She didn’t know what to say next.